Stardate 2229.05
Local time: 1830 hours
Sy'mria Resort, Argelius II
It was still early but the bar didn't seem to know it. Colorful drinks were flowing and space was at a premium. The screechy tune of an Andorian pop group reverberated through the speakers and it was a wonder anyone could hear even their own internal thoughts. Amanda sat at the end of the bar near the kitchen and an emergency exit, watching the quarter-finals of some local sport that looked like a convoluted cross between cricket and basketball and trying to keep out of the bartender's way.
A fruity blue and purple cocktail sat in front of her, leaking condensation from the glass onto the beverage napkin. Everywhere she looked people were gobbling this same concoction up, but to Amanda it tasted like a whiskey sour mixed with Worcestershire sauce. She doubted it was really that horrible and admitted she probably wasn't in a state to be judging the flavor of anything right now. She'd woken up early that morning with the strangest taste in the back of her throat and no matter how many times she brushed her teeth or how many glasses of salt water she gargled, it refused to go away.
The screen of her glowing PADD caught her attention but she didn't need to check it: no doubt it was her mother trying to reach her again. The entire time she'd been on the surface of Arg-117P, she'd thought about all the things she would tell her loved ones if she could just have one more chance to talk to them, and now here she was, hiding in a bar and squandering her reprieve.
She just didn't know how to tell anyone about what she'd gone through. She expected to receive intolerable pity or shock at best and accusations of lies or an overactive imagination at worst. And that was just over the fact that she'd lost several months of her life—how could anyone ever understand losing Sarek? Had she ever really had Sarek though? Her chin quivered at the thought of him.
"Are you going to answer that?" the Argelian bartender asked, nodding to her PADD as he coated the rims of two glasses with a sugary orange powder.
"No," she sighed. "It's my mother."
"I see," he replied, offering a thin smile. Amanda wondered if mother problems were universal or if the bartender thought she was some kind of monster for ignoring the woman who gave birth to her. It was hard to say. His eyes glanced over her still mostly full cocktail as he turned his back and prepared to mix more drinks. Amanda suddenly realized he was hoping she would finish her drink and order another or give up her seat to someone more eager to spend credits.
It wasn't like she was in the mood to be in a bar full of revelers from the Juniper Carnegie anyway, so she did them both a favor and left after depositing a handsome tip in his account. She squeezed her way back through the rapidly filling bar and out onto the terrace. The multi-colored lights of the planet's capital city stretched as far as she could see and she knew that somewhere out there, Sarek was doing ambassador things, being the important dignitary he was while she was trying to have a few drinks and forget about him.
A warm breeze came in off the ocean and she closed her eyes, trying to just be present in the moment. What had she really expected, anyway? Did she really think he would come running after her on the ship, catching her just before she got onto the shuttle just to profess his undying love for her? He was a Vulcan ambassador, not a character from a low-budget holoromance. Still, it crushed her.
"Cocktail, miss?"
She opened her eyes to see a short Argelian waiter carrying a tray with an assortment of vivid green and purple beverages. Did people here do anything besides get drunk?
"Um, do you have any water?"
He cocked his head and for a moment she wondered if he'd understood her. "We do. I suppose I could get a glass, special for you."
The tone of his voice made it seem like she'd asked him for a plate full of bloody eyeballs. "It's fine, actually," she replied. "Don't trouble yourself."
The waiter smiled, nodded, and turned crisply on his heel and walked away, eager to try his luck with other patrons. And there was no shortage of those. The terrace was less crowded but still quite bustling, so Amanda went down two levels to the promenade gardens overlooking the ocean. She swirled her tongue around in her mouth, wishing she could do something about the strange alkaline taste coating the back of her throat.
Her PADD glowed in her hand once again and realizing that it was much quieter out here and she no longer had the excuse of being in a noisy bar, she found a bench under a tree with pink flowers, took a deep breath, and slid her finger across the glass screen to accept her mother's call. Save for a few wrinkles and sprigs of gray hair, a person nearly identical to Amanda appeared on the PADD's surface.
"Hi, mom."
"Amanda! Where are you?"
"I'm on Argelius II in a garden at some resort."
"Why is it so dark there?"
"Because it's almost 1900 hours."
"Oh, how strange. It's only noon here."
Amanda fought against the natural instinct to roll her eyes. Her mother had a tendency to forget there was a whole universe beyond her own private little bubble and just because it was the middle of the day for her didn't mean that was true everywhere.
"You look so… tired," her mother continued. "Are you eating and sleeping alright? Have you lost weight?"
Amanda swallowed hard, not ready to begin the arduous task of explaining everything she'd been through right now. If her mother was having a hard enough time accepting there was a time difference between her home in New Chicago and a resort on a distant planet, how would she ever believe Amanda had lived two months of her life in the blink of her mother's eye? She decided to go with the first and laziest lie that came to mind.
"I had a stomach bug for the past few days but I'm feeling better."
"Of all the things to happen on your special trip!" lamented her mother. "I hope you're not eating the local food. You don't know what those people-"
"Mom!" Amanda interrupted, looking around to make sure no one was listening to their conversation and desperate to stop her mother before she said something unintentionally but still completely racist.
"Really honey, you look like you've lost a lot of weight," her mother said, leaning closer to the camera and obscuring all but her eyes and most of her nose from view.
"It's probably just the lighting out here," Amanda lied.
"So have you met anyone?"
Amanda flinched. She wanted to tell someone about Sarek. She needed someone to vent and cry with and her mother had always been supportive, but she definitely wouldn't understand this. No one would. "Uh… I've been sick, remember? Yeah, I've mostly been sleeping it off in my cabin. In fact, this is the first night I've been feeling pretty good so I should get back in the bar and mingle. Gotta make the most of the time I have left on this cruise, you know?"
"Oh yes! Don't let me keep you! Have a wonderful night, honey!"
"See you in a week."
Sliding her finger across the screen to end the call brought instant relief to at least one of her problems. She didn't feel like being alone in her room with her thoughts and her loneliness, but she didn't feel like being social either. Just as she was about to get up from the bench and seek out a glass of water to try rinsing out the awful taste in her mouth for the hundredth time, she heard a deep, British voice call her name. She twisted at the waist, draping her arm over the back of the bench and was greeted by the tall frame of Simon Brandon, the logistics manager she had met in another life threeish months earlier.
"Hi, Simon."
"You look…" His eyes scanned her frame, clearly stunned by what he saw. It took her a few seconds to realize how much thinner she was than the last time he saw her. As if to ward off whatever he might say next she said, "I'm getting over a stomach flu."
"I just saw you two days ago," he mused, his tone more questioning than accusatory.
"Yeah, I'm really dehydrated and haven't been sleeping well," she explained. "I know I look like hell."
"You look beautiful," he insisted, tucking his hands in his pockets and offering a kind grin.
Amazing how three little words could threaten to send tears down her cheeks. He was such a nice guy and if she'd never met Sarek, maybe she could see herself ending up with Simon or someone like him. But she had met Sarek, and… She swallowed hard. What was the point in sitting around holding a candle for a guy she would never see again?
"You want to go to dinner?" she suddenly blurted, mildly surprising Simon and shocking the hell out of herself.
"If you feel up to it, I suppose I could eat," he shrugged. "And I would never say no to such lovely company."
Ten minutes later they were sitting down in a small booth at some kind of fusion restaurant with eclectically-shaped dishes and old-style paper menus with only five entrées to choose from, each one written in four different languages. They both ordered a glass of water and Simon asked the waitress about the offerings on the menu and eventually decided on something that sounded vaguely like pasta. When she turned to take her order, Amanda declared, "Surprise me."
The waitress cocked her head and asked, "I do not understand."
"I'll eat whatever you bring me."
"Yes but what would you like to eat? You have a choice."
"I know. Just bring me anything from the menu I guess. I'm not picky."
The waitress flinched but gave a slow nod and wandered away, joining a group of other waitstaff by a computer in the corner. Soon she was pointing in Amanda's direction and they all took turns peeking in her direction, each looking more perplexed than the last. After the server on the terrace who was baffled by her appeal for water when all he had were cocktails and now this display, she was starting to get the impression that Argelians liked routine and order and weren't accustomed to special or unusual requests. So much for being carefree.
"I think you might have short-circuited the server," Simon grinned.
"Do you think I upset her, telling her to just bring me whatever?" Amanda asked, suddenly feeling guilty.
"She'll be fine. I will say it's brave though." He pointed to the menu and explained, "You do realize cy'nilra is a kind of vegetable that's been boiled in vinegar and served over fermented pasta, right?"
Amanda swirled her tongue around in her mouth, thinking that it sounded foul but couldn't be worse than the weird taste that had been plaguing her all day.
"I meant it when I said I'm not picky," she countered.
He laughed out loud, whether impressed by her brave palate or amused by her ambivalent confidence, she couldn't be sure. How could she tell him that just several days ago, she would have happily eaten fermented pasta just for the extra calories?
"To be fair there are five items on the menu, so maybe you won't end up with that one."
"No matter what she serves, I bet I clean my plate."
He flashed a broad smile. "So, unpicky Amanda, did you manage to read any books while you were sick in bed?"
"Huh?"
"I thought you liked to read old style paper books."
"Oh, yeah. But no, actually. I uh- I mostly just slept." She fidgeted in her seat. Maybe she should have invested more time in formulating a lie about what she'd been up to recently before rejoining society.
"Gotta get those fluids," he nodded. "You did inspire me to start reading the Zap Gun again."
Amanda crinkled her nose. "I just never was a fan."
"I know," he grinned. "You said that the other day."
Had she? Yes, she probably had, now that she recalled having first met Simon Brandon while discussing another novel by Philip K. Dick. That was a whole lifetime ago.
Before she could answer, the waitress deposited two glasses of water at their table and another server delivered two identical plates of what looked like meatballs served over rice. The waitress hovered nervously, evidently curious to find out if she'd chosen Amanda's meal wisely, but Amanda shot her a reassuring smile.
"Looks, alright, doesn't it?" Simon mused as he extracted a spoon-like utensil from a dispenser at the end of the table.
Amanda took a long draught of her drink, finishing nearly three-quarters of it in one go, but still that awful damn taste refused to budge.
"Are you really that thirsty?" He cocked an eyebrow.
"I have this really weird taste in my mouth," she explained.
"Are you still sick?"
"I don't-" The thought that she might actually be sick troubled at her. What could having a rusty-metallic taste at the very back of her throat be a symptom of? "I don't think so. Anyway, the food looks good, yeah?"
The tucked into their meals and Amanda was delighted to find it was actually quite delicious and for a short time, allowed her to ignore the gross tang in her mouth. They ate in relative silence, serenaded only by the sounds of clinking dinnerware and the conversation drifting from other tables.
When Simon was done, he extracted the napkin from his lap, tossed it on the table, and asked, "Is everything ok?"
Amanda blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I realize you've been sick and I know don't know you all that well, but you seem really different than you did the other night. I can't tell if you're sad or just tired or maybe I should shut my fat mouth before I offend you."
It was hard not to smile at such genuine honesty and concern. The floundering expression on his face told Amanda that he didn't really know what to make of their pseudo-date and when she put herself in his shoes, she realized how flaky she must seem. She set her glass down and looked into his eyes and found them open, curious, and maybe a little bit uneasy.
"I've been feeling a little introspective lately," she cautiously admitted.
"Ok," he said slowly, elongating the word as if to encourage her to continue.
"I honestly didn't want to come on this cruise," she began. She pushed some of the remaining grains of rice around on her plate with her fork, arranging them into a semi-circle.
He delivered a half smile and said, "I know. You must have said so half a dozen times the other night."
He opened the door, so Amanda decided to barge through it. "But the thing is, the other night wasn't the other night for me. Something happened."
The face he wore when he patiently listened to other people's problems melted into one of utter bewilderment. She didn't bother leaving any room in the conversation for him to ask her what the hell she meant.
"Do you remember the night we met? How there was that weird emergency and the ship started rocking and we were all ordered to return to our rooms?"
"How could I forget?" he laughed and rubbed his right temple. "I smacked my head on the cabinet in the lavatory of my room. I still have the knot. There's a reason I told my mum to forget the idea of me following in my grandfather's footsteps and join Starfleet."
"Right, well, I ended up in an escape pod and got stranded on this remote planet."
"So that's what you've been up to for the past few days?"
"To you it was a few days, but to me it was closer to three months. At least I think? It's kind of hard to say because the clocks were all screwy and days on Arg-117P run longer than standard days."
His eyes darted from one object to another around the table. He opened and closed his mouth several times.
"See, this is the part where you probably think I'm either joking or insane," she continued. "But it really happened. Starfleet was testing some kind of warp drive and it made a hole in the fabric of space time and so what felt like months to me felt like seconds to you."
He started to laugh but when he saw the stony expression on Amanda's face he wisely tamped his light mood. "I- I- you- you what?"
She gestured to her face. "Do you really think I could have lost this much weight from a mild twenty-four hour stomach flu?"
He thought to himself for a moment before saying, "No, I suppose not."
"To be honest, you're the first person I've told aside from the Starfleet people. I didn't think anyone would believe me. I'm not sure you believe me."
"It's not that I don't believe you; it's difficult to wrap my mind around."
"I can appreciate that. Just hearing myself tell you—it sounds ridiculous." Amanda ran her fingers through her hair: the sensation of her fingernails on her scalp was soothing.
"Do you want to get out of here?" he asked, looking around at the rapidly filling restaurant.
"And go where?"
"Anywhere we can talk more privately."
Her instincts screamed at her to refuse, but they quickly settled things with the waitress and headed down the grand central spiral staircase to the third floor where Amanda's room was situated. She swiped her card on the access point and he waited patiently for her to invite him in, but she balked.
"Are we really just here to talk?"
"Absolutely," he replied, holding up his hands as if she were levying an accusation. "If this makes you uncomfortable, we could go somewhere more public, maybe the-"
She cut him off. "Are you interested in a relationship with me? I know that must be really forward, I would just prefer to know."
Amanda had no idea what made her ask such a serious question, but it seemed to her he was proposing a more serious turn in their casual acquaintance. She expected him to go red in the face and start blustering about how they barely knew each other, but he looked her dead in the eye and replied, "I suppose it is a bit forward, but it fits with what I do know about you. I could honestly say I wouldn't rule it out."
Why did she have to start crying and make an already awkward night even worse? Her frustrated tears turned into sobs, and seeing Simon standing there, uncomfortably trying to figure out if he should make any attempt to comfort her, made everything so much worse.
Seeing two people at the opposite end of the hallway watching them, she ushered him inside and switched into overshare mode, blubbering about being alone in the escape pod for weeks and making it to the planet, and then eventually finding Sarek. Simon learned all about Sarek's many talents, from his aptitude with computers and math to building latrines and chimneys. She was halfway through describing finding Hornsby's shuttle when he stood, went to the latrine, and returned with a damp washcloth.
She wiped her face, blew her nose, and gasped, "I'm so sorry to unload all of this on you."
"It would be a tough thing for anyone to keep to themselves."
"I like you and I think you're a great person, it's just-"
"You're in love with this Sarek guy."
"What? No! I never said that."
"You didn't have to. It's pretty obvious from the way you're talking about him."
"I'm so sorry."
"For what? Don't be sorry for falling in love with someone. Sounds like you two went through a lot together and when you really think about the odds you both would wind up in the same place, it's pretty astronomical. Maybe it was meant to be."
Amanda cradled her face in her hands and leaned forward, resting her forearms on her thighs. Simon gently rubbed her back then rose to his feet. "Maybe I should go."
"Maybe you should. Thank you so much for listening to me. I honestly think I could have liked you."
He chuckled a bit and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Thanks?"
"Wow, that came out really bad," Amanda gulped. She dragged herself into a standing position and tightly wrapped her arms around her body.
"It's a pretty fair compliment given the situation, I suppose."
"Are you going to be ok in here by yourself or do you want me to stay?"
"I don't want to keep burdening you with my crazy story."
There was no question he was relieved. "Well then, good luck, Amanda Grayson."
"You too, Simon."
She walked him to the door, but before it closed behind him he turned and said, "You should probably let this Sarek fellow know how you feel. He sounds like good chap."
The door slid back into place, giving Amanda a wide area to rest her forehead on. Fresh tears began to trickle down her cheeks. If only it were possible to talk to him again. Why hadn't she told him how she felt? She was starting to wonder if walking away from him without saying anything was going to be the biggest mistake of her life.
Stardate 2229.20
Local time: 1915 hours
Shi'Kahr Province, Vulcan
Brilliant red and orange hues struck the mountains as day faded into evening. It was a beautiful landscape and Sarek had not seen it in many months, but he hardly noticed. His mind was too preoccupied with other matters.
Talks with the Argelians had taken fifteen days, but both parties were satisfied. The Argelians would convert the largest and most temperate of Arg-117P's continents—the one Sarek and Amanda had called home for months—into a resort and the Federation would lay claim to the smaller continents for the site of a future Starfleet outpost.
His role in bartering this agreement had won Sarek much praise from his superiors within the Federation and earned him renewed focus from the Vulcan government. His future as a diplomat had never been brighter, which meant his wish to eventually return to his chosen field of astrophysics was now all but unattainable.
Vulcan had many renowned astrophysicists but too few accomplished diplomats. The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few, or the one, as Surak would claim. So it was only logical that he should continue to pursue public service, but it did not stop him from questioning whether it would be more beneficial for wider society if an individual pursued their interests over their aptitudes.
The car pulled around the tight switchback and began its descent to the valley floor, bringing the family estate into view. Nine generations of his family had been born in the regal house on the sloping hill at the end of the road, himself included, and though it was illogical he often felt a species of nostalgia whenever he thought about his home. Now he felt strangely uncomfortable and though he did his best to reign in this errant emotion, he knew why he was experiencing it. Amanda.
What would Amanda think of this place? Would she marvel in its beauty as he often had, or would she mock him for his privileged life? She had once teased him for growing up on a large estate, insisting such an upbringing must surely be some vestige of an antiquated classist system. Poverty had been eliminated on Vulcan many centuries ago, but a lack of poverty did not guarantee absolute economic equality. No one on Vulcan lacked access to adequate food, shelter, education, medical care, or other necessities, but the quality and distribution of such resources could vary due to many factors.
He closed his eyes and stifled an array of feelings the began to bubble up from the depths of his consciousness. It had been two weeks since he last saw her, but the pain of separation still felt raw. Whenever he shut his eyes, he was always first met with the image of her on the Mercury, being awkwardly led away by Lieutenant Jackson. He had been so overwhelmed by her anguish in that moment that he'd failed to recognize that some of it had been his own.
With time and physical distance, he could no longer sense Amanda as before. It would allow him to eventually free his mind of her, but it also it troubled him because he was not certain he wanted to be free of her. Why had he not gone after her and requested that they continue their friendship? Was what he had with Amanda even accurately defined as friendship?
The vehicle turned right onto the long road leading to the house and minutes later, pulled into the circular drive along the westward verandah. The door automatically folded aside and Sarek exited and smoothed his robes. He was home. It had been too long since he was last here.
He let himself in through the front door and was halfway through the main hall when he was greeted by T'Mara, a woman who had been in his family's employ since before Sarek's birth. She regarded him but said nothing, but he did not expect her to. It was customary for servants to wait to be greeted before speaking.
He lifted his right hand in the ta'al and said, "Live long and prosper, T'Mara."
She offered a small bow of her head, returned the ta'al, and replied, "Live long and prosper, Ambassador Sarek. Your father and forefather welcome you."
"I was unaware Solkar would be here," Sarek replied. His father had not mentioned it, but Solkar's presence only cemented Sarek's suspicion that Skon had invited him home to press him into matrimony.
"He has only just arrived and is with your father in the dining room. You are to join them for end meal. I have your former room prepared for your visit and will instruct Loren to unpack your things."
"Very well," he replied, resisting the urge to thank her. While he was grateful for T'Mara's careful attention to detail, it was generally impolite to excessively thank servants, particularly for simply performing their duties. Where had this impulse for excessive gratitude come from? Perhaps he had been in the company of humans too long.
Sarek entered the dining room and found his father sitting at the head of the table, his forefather sitting to his right. He greeted each of them in turn and was invited to sit, so he walked around the table and took the seat to his father's left, facing Solkar. Both of them studied Sarek's face, barely able to conceal their curiosity.
It was peculiar to see his father occupy a seat held by Solkar for much of Sarek's life, but now that his foremother was deceased, Solkar's son Skon was by convention the head of the household. Because Sarek had no sisters or other female relations to supersede his claim, the estate would pass to Sarek upon his mother's death.
"Your mother sends her regrets that she could not be here this evening," Skon said. "She is in Gol with your uncle but will arrive tomorrow. I am told your negotiations with the Argelians went as expected."
"They did. I believe both the Federation and Argelians are satisfied with the arrangement."
"As am I. Your performance was commendable."
Sarek gave his father a small bow of his head and turned to acknowledge his forefather. "I am honored to serve, as both you and Solkar have served."
"If you are honored to serve, you would serve your family well by taking a mate," Solkar announced. His eyes rested on Sarek, cold and unflinching.
While Vulcans were widely regarded for their direct nature, his forefather had a unique talent for candor. As he aged, his patience for restraining his opinion had become quite diminished.
"I am still quite young," Sarek began, intending to remind Solkar that he was still establishing himself as a diplomat and wasn't focused on finding a mate at present, but Solkar interrupted him.
"Your father and myself, as well as my father before me were all bonded and had fathered children by the age of sixty. You are sixty-four."
"I am aware of my age," Sarek replied. The door behind Sarek opened and a servant appeared with a long, rectangular dish.
Solkar glared at the man as he set it on the table: it would be a severe breach of etiquette to discuss private family matters in front of the domestic staff. He departed the room quickly and the door had scarcely shut behind him when Solkar continued, "If you had only taken the mate your parents selected for you, we would not be in this situation."
Sarek took a slight pause to suppress a feeling of annoyance before he countered by saying, "I fail to see what situation that is."
"Without an heir, you threaten the legacy of this family."
Sarek had not intended to affront his forefather, but the words found their way out of his mouth before he really had time to consider their implications. "Which might be concerning if I were approaching my second century of life as you are, but as I previously stated, I am quite young and have plenty of time to preserve this estate before it is truly threatened with abeyance."
"I did not come here to be insulted."
"Nor did I."
It was taking greater effort to suppress a number of distasteful emotions. Perhaps he was not entirely recuperated from his most recent pon farr, or perhaps Amanda had made a more lasting impression upon him than he realized.
"And I did not invite you both here to give insult to each other," Skon interjected, rising to his feet to begin serving the meal.
Sarek and Solkar stood as well. It was customary for the head of the household to serve his or her guests, and it was also customary for the guests to stand when the head of the household did.
Skon spooned a moderate helping of the bean casserole onto Sarek's plate, prompting him to say, "That will be sufficient." Once again, he had to fight the impulse to offer thanks. Skon then served Solkar and himself, and soon three generations tucked into their end meal in tense silence.
When they were finished, Solkar retired for the evening but Sarek knew their discussion regarding his bachelor status was far from complete and would be revisited at the next available opportunity. Perhaps this temporary reprieve from admonishment was wise, as it would serve both of them well to meditate on it before speaking of it again.
Sarek followed his father into a private sitting room and situated himself in a high-backed chair overlooking the balcony. He expected his father to sit and pour himself a glass of k'vass, a ritual he'd performed almost every night of his life since Sarek had been alive, but he stationed himself by the enormous sliding glass doors and folded his hands behind his back.
"Your forefather has always spoken plainly," Skon finally said, not bothering to turn and look at his son.
"I am aware."
"But he also speaks truly."
They were quiet for a long time as Sarek steeled his mind against the frustration that came from the need to defend his decision to remain unbonded once again. His father waved his hand and the glass doors began to stack into one another, removing the partition between the sitting room and the cool, arid night air. He stepped out onto the balcony, turned to face his son, and said, "Join me."
Sarek followed his father onto the terrace, suddenly feeling very tired.
"You played here often as a child."
"Yes, I recall."
"As you grew older, you would take I-Chaya down the stairs and wander off into the desert for hours."
Sarek recalled that too. His father had been forbidden him from leaving the surrounding property, but Sarek had done it anyway on countless occasions. Sometimes his father had caught him and punished him, but other times he had gotten away with it.
"Why do you remind me of this?"
"Because I do not want yours to be the final generation to share such memories in this place."
"You intend to pressure me to take a mate also?"
"It is improper for you to remain unbonded, now that your foremother is no longer alive."
"I do not wish to remain alone indefinitely, but my duties on Earth preclude me from finding a suitable mate on Vulcan."
"You will not be ambassador to Earth for the rest of your life. In fact, I should not expect you to remain on Earth for more than a few years. Your forte for arbitration is becoming apparent to the Vulcan Diplomatic Service and it is likely you will be reassigned to a position more worthy of your talent when your minimum tenure on Earth has expired."
"That will not be for another two and a half standard years. Unless you would have me take a human mate or resign my post, you will have to be patient."
"There is a third, far less radical option you have failed to consider," Skon said. He rested his hands on the stone wall encasing the balcony.
Sarek already knew what he was going to say. "You would ask my permission to contract a second betrothal on my behalf?"
"It is the custom."
"I am no longer a child."
"And often when adults find themselves unbonded for any reason, many still permit their parents to guide their decision in selecting a mate for themselves."
"The mate who was chosen for me in my youth was a poor match. You believe you can do better a second time?"
"I know your mind far better now than I did when you were seven years old."
Sarek briefly thought of his regard for Amanda and seriously doubted it. "Who would you have me bonded to?"
"A colleague of mine in the Diplomatic Service has a daughter, T'Vala, who is recently widowed. They are of a good family. She holds a degree in astrobiology from the Vulcan Science Academy."
"Traits which qualify her to do many things but give little indication what sort of mate she would make."
"It would be unusual to possess affection for a woman you do not know, but when two people follow logic and share similar goals, mutual respect and affection typically follow."
"That is how it was with you and mother?"
Skon's features hardened slightly. Sarek's question was purely rhetorical. It was well known that Skon met Sarek's mother when she was working as a primary school teacher and rejected the mate his parents chose for him in favor of her.
"I merely urge you to meet with T'Vala and decide whether you are interested in pursuing the match. If you do not find her suitable, I know of several other-"
"No," Sarek interrupted.
"Clarify."
Sarek gazed long and hard at his father as he tried to clarify his answer to himself. Was he rejecting his father's offer or rejecting the idea of taking a mate altogether?
"I do not require you to select a mate for me."
"If you insist on making your own choice, perhaps you could take a sabbatical and return to Vulcan for a time."
"No."
His simple refusal carried more defiance than he intended. His father turned to him. "Since you were a child you have always elected to follow your own path, regardless of my guidance. Your mother often indulged your intransigence, but I had hoped you would learn to allow logic to guide your actions as you grew older."
Sarek looked away from his father, gazing out over the starlit desert and the mountains in the distance. "I cannot deny I have made many mistakes."
"Mistakes are the inevitable result of inexperience," his father replied. "The most grave mistake is continuing to repeat them."
"I have become a disappointment to you."
"You often disappoint me, but you are not a disappointment. You are my son. I do not believe you will adequately understand my position until you have a child of your own."
"Perhaps not," Sarek replied. He turned away from Skon and walked back toward the house, certain his next decision would be among the most shocking of all transgressions he'd ever committed in his father's eyes.
"Where are you going?" Skon called after him.
Without look back Sarek replied, "To correct a mistake."